


Reprieve

by menel



Series: When the Day is Short [6]
Category: Justified
Genre: Babysitting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, House Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim takes a trip to Florida with Raylan. It seemed like a good idea, until he found himself dealing with Raylan’s ex-wife, Raylan’s new baby and Raylan’s former/future boss. Talk about crunch time. Tim has to decide if Raylan’s baggage is gonna be his baggage too. </p><p>Blanket spoilers for Season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

White was the color _du jour_ as Tim stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a large white bath towel around his waist. His skin was still damp from the shower he and Raylan had just shared, but the blast of cool air-conditioning that greeted him when he entered the hotel room would soon take care of that. Raylan was at the opposite end of the immaculate white room, a similar white towel also wrapped around his waist. The white curtains of the large window overlooking Miami Beach were drawn back, and Raylan was surveying the scenery outside, a glass of bourbon in his hand. 

Their room at the Delano was a Deluxe Ocean King View and to say that Tim had been surprised that Raylan had booked them at the luxury resort hotel was a gross understatement. He’d never thought of Raylan as a luxury hotel sort of guy, but true to form, Raylan could still surprise him. Tim didn’t consider himself to be a luxury hotel sort of guy either (acetic was his lifestyle of choice, something the regimented life of the army had ingrained in him), but Raylan’s indulgence had been welcome. He was still smarting (physically and otherwise) from Darryl Crowe Jr.’s car crash stunt, followed by Boyd’s sheer nonchalance at walking the Marshals straight into a Mexican ambush. Those two things meant that he’d been unpleasant company during the roughly two-hour flight from Lexington to Miami, but Raylan had done an admirable job of humoring him the entire time. 

Once they’d arrived in Miami, they’d checked in at the Delano and Tim’s fatigue, aches, pains and foul mood had all coalesced into an enormous ball of grumpiness. The perks of the hotel and the deluxe room had taken off some of the edge he’d been feeling and by the time he’d crawled under the extra soft sheets of the queen-sized bed, it was hard to stay mad at anything, especially Raylan. The cowboy had made sure he was settled and comfortable before he’d driven down to Palm Beach to see Winona. Tim had been dead to the world by then and he’d slept the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon away. 

By the time Tim had woken up, it was to the sound of Raylan moving around in the room, which had given him some idea of how late it was. The cowboy had eventually settled beside him on the bed, an arm about Tim’s waist as he’d asked how Tim was feeling, to which Tim had replied something along the lines of needing a shower. Just like he’d been since they’d left Lexington, Raylan had accommodated him by joining (and thoroughly distracting) him in the shower. Not that Tim was complaining. They didn’t shower together often enough was his opinion on the matter. 

Now Tim walked over to his duffel bag, the only luggage he’d brought for the short trip. His headache had returned and he needed some of those painkillers. His movement alerted Raylan and the other man turned towards him, meandering over to the table where Tim had dumped his bag. He pulled out the white chair from the table and sat down, placing his glass in front of him. 

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Better,” Tim grumbled. 

It was _mostly_ true. The after effects of his concussion weren’t as strong as before. He found the orange container of pills that he was looking for and popped the cap, tapping two pills into his palm. He took the pills, washing them down with Raylan’s glass of bourbon. While he was taking the painkillers, Raylan picked up the container and read the label. 

“It’s not oxy,” Tim said flatly, putting the glass back down. 

“It ain’t Ibuprofen either,” Raylan pointed out, returning the pills to him. 

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stuffed the pills back into his duffel. He was fully aware that the name of the prescription on the bottle didn’t belong to him. He’d had a pharmacist friend smuggle out some Vicodin, his painkiller of choice. It had a lot more kick than Ibuprofen but was also highly addictive. 

“I know what I’m doin’,” he told Raylan a tad testily. 

“I trust you,” Raylan simply replied. 

Tim didn’t know whether he wanted to hit or to hug the other man for his honesty. He settled for moving into Raylan’s space.

“What time’s that dinner again?” he asked. 

“Seven-thirty, Dan said. We got a little over two hours.” 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Tim questioned. “Me meeting your former _and_ soon-to-be boss?” 

Some part of Tim must’ve known all along that Art would approve Raylan’s transfer, no matter how much he’d secretly hoped that Raylan would stay in Lexington, at least, for a while longer. Tim still hadn’t had time to process the idea of Raylan leaving, what impact that would have on him and on their developing relationship. Everything was just moving so damn fast. It had been less than a week ago that Raylan had brought up the idea of Tim moving to Florida as well. Tim had been so pissed at Raylan that night, their last night at a motel. He’d waited for Raylan for over an hour while Wendy Crowe had chatted Raylan up at some bar and tried to get into his pants. Tim hadn’t taken Raylan’s suggestion seriously at all at the time, but now he saw that Raylan was completely serious and meeting Dan Grant, the Chief Deputy of the Miami office was a first step in making it a reality. 

As if reading his thoughts, Raylan said, “Don’t see why not. He could be your boss too.” 

Tim opened his mouth to say something in reply but his mind had drawn a blank. He needed things to slow down. He may have teased Raylan for his lack of ability to commit, but he hadn’t considered his own commitment issues. How invested was he in his relationship with Raylan? Invested enough to uproot his life to Florida? And Jesus, Raylan still had _huge_ personal issues to deal with. Once this thing with Boyd Crowder wrapped up (and lord only knew how _that_ was gonna play out), Raylan would be learning the responsibilities of being a new father. Not to mention Winona. Tim knew that Raylan still loved her; it was likely that Winona felt the same way. Love had never been the problem between them. They just couldn’t make things work, but maybe that would change now that they had a kid and they were both out of Kentucky. Poor Gary had never really stood a chance once Raylan was back in Lexington. And how the hell would _he_ fit in all this? Tim didn’t want to end up as the sad third wheel to the already dysfunctional Givens-Hawkins family.

Everything that had remained unsaid and unaddressed for so long was making Tim uncomfortable, and the throbbing of his headache had only gotten worse. He suspected that all his thoughts of Florida and his complicated relationship with Raylan had more to do with his headache than any after-effects of Darryl’s stupid stunt. Raylan must’ve intuitively known this too because he reached out before Tim could pull away. 

Tim didn’t have the energy to resist and he allowed himself to be drawn further into Raylan’s space, eventually sitting in Raylan’s lap, most of his weight on Raylan’s right leg with the other man’s arm behind him for support. 

“Let’s just see how the dinner goes,” Raylan said gently, and Tim took that to be a convenient end of the subject. Unfortunately, Tim’s next choice of topic wasn’t making things any easier on him. 

“How was Winona?” 

“Tired,” Raylan answered. “But that’s to be expected. Her mother’s been over a lot, helping her adjust.” 

“And Willa?” 

It was impossible to miss how Raylan’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter. “She’s beautiful. Perfect,” he replied, a distinct note of pride in his voice. 

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’s what they all say at the start. Then there’s the crying, the teething, the keeping you up all night, the dirty diapers . . .” he trailed off. “You don’t know the first thing about babies, do you?” 

“I’ve been workin’ my way through that baby book,” Raylan countered good-naturedly. “It’s slow going. Not exactly the most riveting reading.” 

“I’ll bet.” 

“Do _you_ know anything about babies?” 

“No, but I’m not the new daddy.” 

Raylan was looking at him thoughtfully, the hand at Tim’s back now rubbing in a slow, circular motion. It was soothing. “You should come with me tomorrow,” the cowboy said. “When I go back to see the both of them. I told Winona you were here.” 

“What?” Tim barked. “Why would you do that?” 

“Why _wouldn’t_ I do that?” 

“Jesus, Raylan,” Tim said, agitatedly running a hand through his hair. He knew that the gesture was a quirk of Raylan’s that he’d picked up. “She’s gonna know, the minute we walk in there, what’s going on between us.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

Tim was dumbfounded at how completely naïve Raylan sounded. He glared at the other man. “Well, we haven’t exactly talked about it,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

“Hang on. Back up a minute,” Raylan said, holding up both his hands in a placating gesture as he leaned back in the chair. “Why would Winona know anything? She knows we work together _and_ we’re friends. Is it that unusual for two friends to take some R &R down by the beach?” 

“Aside from the fact that we’re not in college and this ain’t spring break,” Tim snapped. “No, I guess it’s not that unusual. But that’s not my point either.” He took a deep breath. “My point,” he began slowly, “is that women have a second sense about these things. And Winona’s not just anybody. She’s like . . . the love of your life. Trust me, man. She’s gonna _know_.” 

Raylan looked thoughtful as he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Say that were true . . . is it gonna be a problem?” 

Tim wanted to rip his hair out. “I know we don’t talk about shit,” he said. “But this qualifies as a major communication breakdown.” 

Raylan’s look simply said, _Go on_. 

So, Tim did. 

“First of all, I’m not exactly . . . out,” he said, struggling to say the last word. Fuck, he hated talking about this shit. It made him antsy, which meant that he had to stand up. The urge to walk away was strong but he settled for pacing in front of Raylan. 

“But let’s say I were,” he continued. He looked at the other man. “In fact,” he went on, “let’s say I was one of your dumb, leggy blonds. You don’t find it a little inappropriate coming down to Florida and parading me in front of your ex-wife? I mean, what’s that gonna look like?” 

Raylan looked like he was trying not to laugh and his reaction quietly infuriated Tim even more.

“First of all,” the cowboy began, repeating Tim’s words. “They’re not _all_ dumb, leggy blonds. And the difference here is if I _were_ with a dumb leggy blond, I’d keep her as far away as possible from Winona. I wouldn’t _invite_ her over to my ex-wife’s house to meet my family. Do _you_ get what I’m saying’?” 

Some part of Tim did, but Raylan’s words weren’t entirely registering with him either. 

“Tim,” Raylan said to get his attention. “I’m not just with you to pass the time. All-in or all-out. Those were your words, remember?” 

Tim shook his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he stated. “You think you can just bring me here and then what? Everything will fall into place?” 

“No,” Raylan replied. “Maybe?” he shrugged, fighting back a smile. He quickly sobered at Tim’s dark expression. “Look, we gotta start somewhere,” he added. “And we’ve always been able to figure shit out.” 

“Fuck,” Tim muttered. He’d stopped pacing in favor of staring intensely at the floor. 

“Tim.” 

Raylan reached out again, but this time he caught Tim’s left wrist in his hand, his thumb right over Tim’s pulse point. Tim knew his pulse was a little elevated. 

“What do _you_ want?” 

If this were some cheesy rom-com the easy answer would’ve been ‘You.’ But real life was hard and complicated. It didn’t make sense most of the time, and love sure as hell didn’t conquer all. Tim’s mind was drawing a blank slate. He had no fucking clue what he wanted. 

“Right now,” he finally said, feeling his pulse slow as it returned to normal. “I want you face down, ass up.” 

Raylan’s look was knowing, his smile rueful. Sex was a classic evasive tactic that they’d both employed often enough, but Tim knew that the other man wouldn’t call him out on it now. True to form, Raylan stood up. Without letting go of Tim’s wrist, he walked over to the bed where he stripped them of their towels and then proceeded to kiss Tim deeply. A sigh of contentment escaped Tim when Raylan pulled away. He watched as the other man reached for one of the large fluffy pillows, placing it on the bed as a kind of support as he followed Tim’s instructions – face down, ass up.

Sex never solved any of their problems, Tim thought. And sex with Raylan seemed to make him particularly stupid. But the expectant look Raylan gave him over his shoulder was impossible to resist and a second later, Tim had joined him on the bed.

* * * * *

“We should’ve had another shower,” Tim grumbled as he followed Raylan into the restaurant.

“We did have another shower,” Raylan replied, waiting a beat for Tim to fall into step beside him. 

“I meant a proper shower.” 

“It’s not my fault that you keep getting distracted.” 

“It’s totally your fault that you’re so distracting.” 

Raylan was prevented from replying as the two of them approached the table where Dan had stood up to greet them, but he gave Tim a sideways grin just as Dan said, “Raylan Givens. You’re looking well.” 

Raylan shook Dan’s hand, replying, “Yardbird, Dan? You do realize we’re both from the south?” 

“Just looking to make you boys feel at home,” Dan said amiably, his attention turning to Tim. 

“Dan, I want you to meet Tim Gutterson,” Raylan said, making the introductions. “Tim, this is Dan Grant, the Chief Deputy of the Miami office.”

Tim and Dan shook hands before taking their seats. Raylan and Tim sat side by side with Dan sitting across from Raylan. A waitress quickly materialized at their table, handing both Tim and Raylan menus and taking their drink orders. 

“So, Tim,” Dan began. “Which part of the south are you from? Kentucky as well?” 

“I’m a neighbor,” Tim answered. “Tennessee.” 

“Ah, the land of Jack Daniels,” Dan confirmed. Then he nodded in Raylan’s direction. “And the land of Jim Beam. I hope that’s not all you two have in common.” 

“Don’t be sad now that the Bayou’s only got rum and cocktails,” Raylan ribbed. 

“And some very fine craft beers,” Dan added. 

“Dan’s from Louisiana,” Raylan explained. 

“New Orleans?” Tim ventured. 

“The less glamorous Baton Rouge,” Dan answered. “Since you boys kept me waiting, you about ready to order?” 

“Fine by me,” Raylan replied. He’d only given the menu a cursory glance. Tim suspected the cowboy already knew what he was going to order. 

“Recommend anything?” Tim asked, scanning the main courses. He’d addressed the question to Raylan, but it was Dan who answered. 

“Old Ray-Ray here is a sucker for the 27-hour fried chicken,” Dan informed him. “It _is_ a house specialty,” he conceded a moment later. “Other standouts include the Salisbury steak and the pork ribs.” 

“I think Tim’s gonna go for the Shrimp ‘n’ Grits,” Raylan said thoughtfully. “Us landlocked folk don’t get a whole lotta seafood.”

Tim shot Raylan a mildly annoyed expression. Mildly annoyed because Raylan was absolutely right. He was going to order the Shrimp ‘n’ Grits, just like it didn’t take a psychic to guess that Raylan would order the fried chicken. Dan ended up with the St. Louis Style Pork Ribs. 

Service was fairly fast for a bustling Friday night and the three of them were served the appetizers as they settled into the conversation. Most of it had to do with Dan and Raylan reminiscing over old times and Dan sharing some of Raylan’s crazy capers. 

“And here I thought it was just the folk in Harlan county,” Tim commented when Dan concluded Raylan’s chase of a fugitive across the Mexican border and his run-in with the Federalis.

“Oh no,” Dan shook his head. He pointed a finger in Raylan’s direction. “Batshit crazy sticks to him like a second skin. Have you never wondered why he’s the lone gunman?” 

Tim gave Raylan a sidelong glance. “You mean it’s not that sparkling personality of his?” he deadpanned. 

Dan barked out a laugh. “I like you, Gutterson,” he said approvingly. “You need that kind of sense of humor to stay sane around this one.” He motioned to Raylan again. “How long have you two been working together?” 

“Pretty much since he landed in Lexington,” Tim answered. 

“And how many times have you been shot?” 

Tim grinned in response. Yep, Dan knew Raylan all right. 

“Tim can take care of himself,” Raylan butted in. 

“So I hear,” Dan said. He looked at Tim again. “Sniper in the Rangers, was it?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“It’s just Dan.” 

“All right,” Tim agreed. 

“Where’d you serve?” 

“Afghanistan.” 

Dan was nodding thoughtfully. “Our Armed Response Team here is short a sniper,” he said eventually. “If you’re interested.” 

It took all of Tim’s willpower not to choke on the beer he was drinking. Did Dan Grant just offer him a godamn job? Beside him, he could feel Raylan watching him carefully. That sneaky sonofabitch. He’d planned this all along. 

Tim swallowed his beer and put the bottle back down. “Lexington’s a small office,” he said in a measured voice. “Can’t imagine Art would be too pleased about losing two deputies at the same time.” 

Raylan and Dan exchanged glances. 

“We can work something out,” Dan assured him. “It could be an outright exchange. I could send someone down there in your place.”

“Or you could come up to Miami a little later,” Raylan suggested. “And Dan could still send someone in your place.” 

Tim looked from Raylan to Dan and then back at Raylan again. How the hell had they got on to this topic? And what the hell was going on? 

Tim had voiced the last question out loud before he could stop himself and he followed it with, “Is this a godamn job interview?” 

Dan looked like he was about to laugh again but he somehow managed to reign in his amusement. “Wouldn’t call it an interview,” he shrugged, glancing at Raylan one more time. “Job’s already yours if you want it.”

Tim didn’t know if he was furious at Raylan for being so presumptuous or if he was relieved that Raylan had been so presumptuous. It meant that Raylan wanted Tim to be a part of his life; that he was serious about pursuing whatever it was that they had. But godammit! Why couldn’t they be normal people and talk about this shit? Why did Raylan have to spring it on him like this, in public, in front of his future potential boss? 

Dan’s perceptive gaze was on him as well, making Tim feel even more self-conscious and slightly claustrophobic. He had a sudden thought as Dan caught his eye. Fuck, how much had Raylan told his friend about them? Did Dan actually _know_ about them? Was it weird that they were sitting side-by-side? Would Dan even care? What were fraternization rules like at the Miami office? Did Raylan have a long line of law enforcement exes waiting for him that would shoot him just as soon as sleep with him again? Tim could feel his headache coming back. 

“You don’t have to decide now, of course,” Dan was saying. “Take some time to think about it. Job remains an open offer.”

Tim was given a reprieve as the waitresses arrived with their orders. He looked at Raylan darkly before diving into his Shrimp ‘n’ Grits. Raylan’s own expression remained carefully neutral. If Dan was aware of the tension that had suddenly sprung up between the two men, he dutifully ignored it, once more engaging Raylan in conversation. Tim settled into his meal (god, it was good) and let their talk wash over him. At some point, Raylan put a drumstick on his plate as a kind of peace offering. 

Tim shook his head. It was hard to stay mad at Raylan for long. 

“So, what’s with this 27-hour fried chicken anyway,” he asked, taking a bite. 

“Ah, so the secret is . . .” Raylan began.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim still thought that going with Raylan to Winona’s house was a bad idea, but he found himself riding shotgun as Raylan drove to West Palm. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tim said, as he watched the scenery go by. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place is as advertised.” 

“Sunny and hot,” Raylan agreed. “You get used to it.” 

Tim wondered if there was a double entendre to be found there, if Raylan meant that _he_ could get used to it. He let the comment slide and soaked in the lush scenery, which was a far cry from the rolling hills of Kentucky. He _could_ get used to this.

When they arrived at Winona’s house, the lady in question looked harried and relieved to see them. “Oh, thank god, Raylan!” she said. “Hey, Tim,” she added, giving Tim a quick, friendly wave as she ushered them both inside. 

“Are we late?” Raylan inquired, taking in his ex-wife’s aggravated state. 

“No, you’re not,” Winona assured him, gathering her things and hastily putting them in her handbag. “But something’s come up, and I’ve got to go. You can stay for the whole afternoon, right? I know this isn’t what we agreed on, but you did so well with her yesterday, I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, you’ve got Tim to back you up, and all the contact info is on the fridge.” Winona spoke in a breathless rush as she looked at Raylan expectantly. 

Tim wanted to laugh. Sure, he was Raylan’s back up in all situations but this one. 

“Go do whatever is it you have to,” Raylan said, appeasing her. “We’ll be fine.” 

“Thank you,” Winona said sincerely, already halfway out the door. “See you both later!” she called over her shoulder.

Raylan locked the front door behind her before turning to Tim with an amused expression. “She’s gonna know, the minute we walk in there . . .” he trailed off, echoing Tim’s words from the day before. 

“Oh, shut up,” Tim replied in exasperation. “She’s still gonna know,” he added. “When she gets back and ain’t stressing over whatever she’s stressing over.” 

“Should we bet on that?” 

“What are you? Twelve?” 

Raylan laughed and slipped an arm about Tim’s shoulders. “C’mon,” he said, leading the way to the second floor. “I want you to meet my daughter.”

* * * * *

Willa was sound asleep in her crib when they entered her room, making Tim thankful for small mercies. It meant that Raylan wouldn’t disturb her, that he wouldn’t insist that Tim pick her up or hold her (Tim was terrified of dropping her and he had no clue how to hold anything that small or fragile), that Tim could just look at her sleeping form in silent awe, and wonder yet again what the hell he was doing with the cowboy. Willa crystallized better than anything else – better than uprooting his life to Florida, better than his potential future boss Dan Grant, better even than his permanent competition with Raylan’s love of his life, Winona – what planning a future with Raylan would mean. And it scared him shitless.

After standing over her crib for a few minutes to make sure that Willa was okay, Raylan motioned for them to leave and Tim fell into step beside him as he so easily always did. When they were out in the corridor and headed back downstairs, Tim finally asked one of the questions that he’d been dreading. 

“You planning to move in here with them when you come down to Florida? I mean, this house is big enough.” 

“That all depends,” Raylan answered. 

“On what?” 

“You, mostly.”

Tim stopped on the staircase. Raylan didn’t notice that Tim had stopped walking until he was halfway down the stairs, and then he halted as well and turned around. 

“What do you mean?” Tim asked him evenly. 

“I mean,” Raylan began. “If you come down to Florida with me, we’ll get our own place.” 

“And if I don’t, you’ll move in here,” Tim finished. 

Raylan sighed and walked back up the stairs, stopping just below Tim and propping one booted leg on a step as he leaned against the railing with his right arm. Tim wondered if this was part of Raylan’s psychological game, letting Tim have a deceptive height advantage through this uncomfortable conversation. 

“It ain’t that simple, Tim.” 

“I think it could be.” 

“Look,” Raylan said. “I know this is freaking you out. It’s freaking me out too.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tim muttered. 

“And I don’t pretend to know how all this is gonna work,” Raylan went on, talking over Tim’s muttered comment. “But I want it to, and I’m willing to try. But no matter how much I want it, that’s not enough. You’ve got to want it too. I can’t do this without you.” 

“Damn, Raylan,” Tim replied. “That’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Raylan huffed out a small laugh as he nodded his head. “Yeah, it probably is,” he agreed with a half-smile.

“What about Winona?” Tim asked, the mention of Winona’s name dampening the good mood between them. 

“I'm always gonna love Winona,” Raylan said seriously. “But I think you already knew that.” 

Tim nodded, but it was mostly to himself. 

“Tim,” Raylan said, this time reaching forward so that he covered Tim’s hand on the railing with his own. “This isn’t a competition between the two of you.” 

“Maybe not,” Tim replied. “But I always thought Willa and Winona were a package deal. If you came down here to be with your daughter, I just figured you’d give things with Winona another shot. I mean, how could you not? Love was never the problem between the two of you.”

Raylan sighed. “No, it wasn’t,” he said. There was a pause and Raylan began drawing those soothing circles on the back of Tim’s hand with his thumb. “There was a time,” he finally said. “When I thought that too. But not anymore. Do you believe that?” 

It was Tim’s turn to give Raylan a half-smile. “I do,” he said, a little grudgingly. 

Raylan took that response as permission to close the distance between them and kiss the other man.

* * * * *

The afternoon was spent in relative peace given that they were unexpectedly baby-sitting a newborn. Well, Raylan was unexpectedly baby-sitting. Tim still kept a respectable distance and adhered to a ‘hands off’ policy. As for Willa, she was remarkably well behaved.

“I hear this ain’t the norm,” Raylan said at one point, as he patted Willa down after feeding. “She’s too young to have a regular sleeping schedule yet, so she’s been keeping Mommy awake at all hours.” 

“Maybe she’s on her best behavior for Daddy’s first visit,” Tim chipped in. 

“Maybe she’s also trying to impress Uncle Tim,” Raylan added, earning a warning look from his partner. 

“If you think that’s gonna convince me to hold her . . .” 

Raylan chuckled. “No pressure, Tim,” he assured the other man. “No pressure.” 

By the time Winona came home in the late afternoon, she found the three of them parked on her sofa, a box of open pizza on the coffee table, a muted baseball game playing in the background, and Willa contentedly sprawled on her Daddy’s chest. 

“Is she?” Winona asked softly. 

“Almost there,” Raylan said, just as softly. 

“Let me take her up,” Winona offered. 

Raylan stood up gently, careful not to dislodge Willa. She was teetering on the verge of sleep. He passed her to her mother, who easily took Willa in her arms. 

“Thank you so much, Raylan,” Winona said gratefully. “You’ve been such a big help.” 

“A regular white knight to the rescue,” Raylan teased. 

“Don’t push it,” Winona warned as she turned away. She’d only taken a few steps before she turned back. “You’re both staying for dinner, right?” 

Raylan glanced at Tim, who was still lounging on the sofa. The other Marshal gave him a half shrug that said, _Your call_. 

“That would be nice,” Raylan answered. 

Winona beamed. “Let me just put her down and I’ll start preparing dinner,” she said, continuing on her way. 

When Winona had disappeared upstairs, Tim let out a long-suffering sigh as Raylan joined him back on the sofa. The cowboy adjusted the volume on the Marlins game so that they could hear the commentators. 

“Giancarlo Stanton is something else,” Raylan said, a slight note of awe in his voice as the replay of Stanton’s towering home run landed in the top deck of Marlins Park. 

“This is such a bad idea,” Tim said quietly. 

“You’ve been saying that all day,” Raylan chided him. “And I don’t know about you, but I consider this whole day to be a win.” 

“That’s because we haven’t had the disastrous dinner with the ex-wife yet,” Tim reminded him. “We oughtta quit while we’re ahead.” 

Raylan subtly reached for Tim’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What’s the worst that could happen at dinner?” he asked quietly. 

“Do you really want me to go there?” 

Tim sighed again, but he accepted Raylan’s quiet comfort, only releasing the other man’s hand when he heard Winona coming down the stairs.

* * * * *

Dinner was not the disaster that Tim had predicted. In fact, it went smoothly, which in a way made Tim feel even worse. Raylan and Winona were so at ease with each other. It gave him a glimpse into the long years of their marriage and what the future could still hold for them, despite Raylan’s assurances. Neither could Tim claim that he was a third wheel, since both Raylan and Winona effortlessly included him in the conversation. Unfortunately, Tim was not in the most loquacious of moods (when was he ever?), but he was polite and courteous, contributing whenever the occasion called for it. He could feel Raylan’s appraising gaze on him for most of the meal, but Tim refused to meet the other man’s eyes. He didn’t think Raylan would like what he saw there.

It was while they were clearing out the dishes and Winona was getting a pie out of the fridge for dessert that the crackling of Willa’s crying came out of the baby monitor that was perched on the kitchen counter. 

“I’ll see to her,” Raylan offered before Winona could. 

“Thanks,” Winona replied, holding a plate of blueberry pie. 

Tim shot Raylan a murderous glance, which the cowboy merely shrugged off. “Plates are in the second cabinet,” he told his partner, remembering the layout of their old kitchen. 

“Oh, Tim, you don’t have to do that,” Winona cut in. 

“It’s fine,” Tim said automatically, glaring at Raylan one last time before the cowboy disappeared. 

Winona had already returned to the dining area with the blueberry pie. Tim followed her with the plates and cutlery. He took his seat at the dining table while Winona began slicing the pie. 

“You two make a good team,” Winona said out of the blue. 

Tim tried not to look wary, but he could hear the sentiment in his voice when he replied. He was beginning to wonder if Raylan’s ex-wife was as good with the double entendres as her ex-husband. 

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” he said. “Raylan’s really more of a lone gunman.” 

Winona had finished slicing the pie and passed one of the plates to Tim. “You’ve lasted longer than any of his other partners,” she informed him. 

“I don’t really know whether that’s a compliment or not,” Tim said, accepting the plate. 

Winona laughed. “It’s mostly a compliment,” she assured him, before returning the pie to the fridge. Tim waited for her to return and retake her seat at the table before he tasted the pie. 

“ _My_ compliments,” he said, after the first bite. 

“Store bought,” Winona confessed. “I don’t know the first thing about baking.” 

They ate for a while in a comfortable silence, and if Tim thought that would be the end of the conversation, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Y’know, when Raylan and I were married,” Winona began (and Tim could swear his skin was prickling from her choice of topics), “I used to lay awake at night so worried about him. There were nights when I was alone and I was terrified that he wouldn’t walk through the front door again.” She shook her head. “It was that uncertainty that I couldn’t handle, this underlying tension that came from his job. I wanted to be with someone safe. Someone dependable. Someone _ordinary_.” She laughed again. “I thought I’d found that with Gary, but we all make mistakes.” Winona pushed around a piece of pie before she spoke again. “What I’ve learned since then is I can’t change Raylan. He loves his job too much, it’s part of who he is and I can accept that now. But that doesn’t mean I can _live_ with it.” She stopped and looked Tim straight in the eye. 

Tim had no idea where this conversation was headed. 

“What I’m trying to say is I think you have a better shot with him than I ever did.” 

“Winona –” 

“Tim, shut up. Let me do the heavy lifting here or none of this stuff is gonna get said. And before you ask, no. Raylan didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t have to.” 

Tim mentally sighed and sat back in his chair, motioning for her to continue. 

“As I was saying,” Winona continued, spearing another piece of pie. “You have a better shot with him than I ever did because you understand the job, you live and accept those same risks. You’re not gonna lie awake at night worrying about him because you’re out there in the field with him. Which means you can also watch his back and he’ll watch yours. I’m _glad_ you’re there to watch his back.” 

She stopped again and gave him a pointed look. 

“Is this the part where I thank you for your blessing?” 

Winona smiled to herself and shook her head. “You two really are perfect for each other. You’re just as emotionally stunted as he is.” She took another bite of the blueberry pie. 

Tim waited a beat before he said sincerely, “Thank you.”

Winona nodded and then they really did finish their pie in a comfortable silence. Raylan materialized a little while later, his plate of blueberry pie waiting for him. Winona automatically handed him an ice cream scooper and the cowboy went back into the kitchen. 

“Raylan’s love for ice cream,” Winona began. 

“Is ridiculous,” Tim finished. 

Raylan returned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of his blueberry pie, this time taking the seat on Tim’s right. 

“So, when are you two moving to Florida?” Winona asked. 

Raylan started. “That hasn’t been decided yet,” he answered. 

“After we take care of Raylan’s unfinished business,” Tim answered almost simultaneously. 

Raylan glanced at Tim, a question in his eyes. Tim brushed the question away with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Dare I ask what this unfinished business is?” Winona prodded. 

“Boyd Crowder,” Tim told her. 

“Oh.” The look on Winona’s face said it all. 

“Exactly,” Tim agreed. 

“Then I’m doubly glad you’re there to watch his back.” 

Raylan watched the other two for a moment before saying, “Did I miss something?” 

Tim sighed and stood up, gathering his and Winona’s empty plates. “Finish your pie and let’s go. It’s been a long day for everyone.” 

“You’ll be back tomorrow?” Winona asked, the question directed at both men. 

It was Tim who answered. 

“You bet.”


	3. Chapter 3

Being on holiday didn’t mean that Tim could shut off his internal alarm, no matter how much he wanted to. In fact, he took it to be a good sign when he woke up at 6:30am sharp; his head clear for the first time in days. It meant that he was well and truly recovered from his concussion courtesy of Darryl Crowe, Jr. On his right, Raylan was still sound asleep. Tim watched the other man for a moment, ruthlessly pushing down the sentimentality that was unexpectedly threatening to overcome him. It was mawkish stuff like, _He could get used to waking up next to Raylan every day. That he_ liked _the idea of that. That maybe Raylan’s shit was manageable after all. Hell, he’d already put up with him for this long. That maybe the reason it was so hard to say ‘no’ to Raylan was because he’d . . ._

Tim sat up and looked down on the man on his right in consternation. “Dammit,” he muttered. 

But that didn’t stop him from placing a kiss on Raylan’s bare shoulder before he got out of bed.

* * * * *

Tim broke from the routine of his morning run (although a run along Miami Beach did hold some appeal to him – maybe before they went back to Kentucky, he could convince the cowboy to join him) and opted to swim laps in the pool instead. He quickly discovered that luxury hotels didn’t really design pools made for swimming laps, but he was thankful that no one was there to bother him at that hour, save for one of the pool attendants who was cleaning outside (and was none too discreetly checking him out). Tim lost himself in the motion of the repetitive strokes and it was only when he heard the splash of someone else diving into the water that he decided it was time to go. The attendant who had been tidying up materialized by his side with his towel as soon as he stepped out of the water.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing her a quick grin, as he took the towel from her. 

“No problem,” the attendant replied. She was blond and cute. _Probably Raylan’s type_ , his mind supplied. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, a little too sweetly. 

Tim held up the towel. “I’m good,” he said. 

“I’m Bridget,” she introduced herself.

“I’ll remember that,” Tim said, quickly drying himself off before slinging the towel about his shoulders. Raylan would get a kick out of this. He’d been in the closet for so long that gently rebuffing female attentions had become second nature to him. Raylan had once teased him about it when one female witness to a murder had so studiously ignored the Givens charm and instead had shamelessly come onto Tim completely.

“You should use that charm more often,” Raylan had said afterwards, hiding, rather poorly, his good humor at Tim’s discomfort over the situation. 

“At least, I learned something new today,” Tim had retorted. 

“And that would be?” 

“Apparently, there are some people in this world who’re immune to the Givens charm.” 

Raylan had laughed. “More than you think,” he’d replied. “What about you, Tim?” he’d asked, just as he was about to start the ignition on his car. “Are you immune to the Givens charm?”

Tim shouldn’t have been surprised by the question – it was part of their usual banter – but it had hit a little too close to home, and he’d shot the other Marshal a look of disbelief and irritation. There had been a twinkle in Raylan’s eye that Tim couldn’t place at the time. Now he recognized the sign for what it was. It was the first indication Raylan had given that he knew Tim might be interested in him, and that he hadn’t found that interest offensive. Later – much later – Raylan would show that the interest was in fact mutual, but Tim hadn’t picked up on that detail at the time. He’d been too caught up in Raylan’s alpha male outlaw-lawman persona, and the constant need to tap down on his own attraction to the other man. He’d never answered Raylan’s offhanded question about the Givens charm, and Tim supposed that had been an answer in itself. 

He was reminded of Raylan’s gentle teasing as Bridget still looked at him expectantly. He nodded once more to her before heading to the white lounge chair where he’d left his t-shirt. He slipped it on and proceeded to go round the back of the hotel. He could feel Bridget’s eyes on him the whole way. 

Inside, the Delano was beginning to show signs of life as the early risers were heading to the dining areas for breakfast. Tim passed by the bakeshop and bought a few pastries, charging the items to their room. 

By the time he returned to their room, he wasn’t surprised to find it still shrouded in darkness with only tiny streaks of light filtering through the curtains. Raylan had turned over since Tim had left, but he was still dead to the world. Tim smiled to himself as he went to the coffeemaker, placed the ground coffee beans inside, poured the water and switched the machine on. He left the pastries on the table next to the coffeemaker before ambling over to the bed to greet his partner. 

Raylan grunted slightly when Tim unceremoniously settled on top of him, but the cowboy refused to open his eyes. “You’re getting the bed wet,” he eventually mumbled, as Tim leaned over and licked a wet stripe up the side of his neck. 

Tim sat back, his damp swimming trunks leaving an even bigger patch on the white duvet. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?” he asked. 

“Who’s asking?” Raylan said in return, finally opening his eyes and simultaneously reaching for the hem of Tim’s t-shirt. He lifted it and with some assistance from Tim, pulled the shirt over Tim’s head. 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted over to the bed and when Raylan had divested him of his shirt, Tim climbed off the bed, much to Raylan’s chagrin. He went to the wide windows, which were on Raylan’s side and pulled the curtains back, earning a loud groan from Raylan as the bright Florida sunshine flooded their room. Tim smirked to himself as he walked back to the coffeemaker. When he returned to the bed, he was balancing two mugs of coffee and a paper bag of pastries. Giving in to Tim’s morning enthusiasm and the sunshine, Raylan had managed to drag himself up to a semi-sitting position. 

“I’m surprised the mugs aren’t white,” he commented idly, taking the two steaming mugs, one brick red and the other a deep blue, from Tim while the other man stripped off his swimming trunks and dumped them by the side of the bed. 

Then Tim slipped back into bed, placing the open bag of pastries between them. “Don’t think is gonna be a habit,” he warned, as he took back his mug from Raylan. 

Raylan gave him an indulgent smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, peering into the paper bag. He chose a peach Danish, while Tim settled back with his coffee. 

_Damn_ , Tim thought. The Delano provided good coffee. He shut his eyes as he savored the strong taste. He felt content and . . . dare he say it? At peace. This was a time out, a true vacation, a morning so divorced from what life in Lexington was like. Beside him, he could hear Raylan enjoying his Danish. Anything with peaches made the cowboy happy. Of course, Raylan would also have to ruin the moment.

“You know the one thing the Miami office has that Lexington can’t compete with?” 

“Only one thing?” Tim asked dryly, eyes still closed. He could feel Raylan’s smile. 

“Dan’s a real stickler for coffee. None of that barely drinkable stuff Art has.” 

“Only pure Arabica beans?” Tim quipped. 

“Shade grown, if possible,” Raylan added. 

At this remark, Tim couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at Raylan. “You know what shade grown is?” he asked, a little disbelievingly. 

Raylan shrugged. “You pick up a few things,” he answered, off-handedly. “Been to Mexico enough times. Latin America too,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

Tim was thinking of the possible scenarios that would’ve brought Raylan to Mexico and Latin America, knowing that none of them would be good. It was the Tommy Bucks shooting, after all, that had sentenced Raylan to his penance in Kentucky. 

“Tim.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Last night you told Winona that we’d be moving here after taking care of my unfinished business. Did I understand that correctly?” 

Tim sighed. It was a miracle that Raylan hadn’t brought up that detail sooner, but Tim was very good at distracting him with sex. So much for the peaceful morning. 

“That just sorta slipped out,” he admitted. 

“A spur of the moment kinda thing?” 

“Yep.” 

There was a pause while both men drank their coffee. 

“But you _are_ considerin’ it,” Raylan said after a while. 

Tim knew that Raylan wasn’t about to let this go, but that didn’t mean he had a definitive answer either. “I am,” he said eventually. And it was true. He really was considering it, although his mental list of pros and cons seemed pretty evenly weighted. 

Nevertheless, this answer seemed to satisfy Raylan because he reached over and took Tim’s mug from him, placing both mugs, followed by the pastries onto the bedside table nearest to him. Tim didn’t resist when Raylan pulled him closer. 

“Y’know, I’m hungry too,” Tim pointed out, even as his hand came to rest on Raylan’s hip, his legs tangling with the other man’s. 

“Your appetite’s always better after sex,” Raylan reminded him. 

Tim couldn’t argue with that.

* * * * *

After lunch, they were back at Winona’s house but instead of staying indoors, Raylan suggested that they bring Willa out to the park.

“So Mommy can get some sleep,” he added for good measure. 

Tim had to admit that Winona looked a little worse for wear. She’d obviously had a long night after the two of them had left. 

“She’s so well behaved when you’re around,” Winona murmured a little wonderingly, as she bundled Willa into her Daddy’s arms. 

“Don’t jinx it,” Raylan told her. 

Winona gave him a tired smile and then handed Tim a big bag of baby supplies. 

“It’s like goin’ camping,” Tim observed, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He’d already stored the stroller in the trunk of Raylan’s car and secured Willa’s little baby seat. 

“Take care of them,” Winona replied, and Tim couldn’t help but read a little more into the statement than an afternoon at the park. 

“Will do,” Tim answered, half tempted to give Winona a little mock salute, but he refrained. He wasn’t comfortable enough (yet) around her to be so typically flippant. 

The park Raylan drove them to was less than ten minutes away. Tim could immediately understand the appeal of the neighborhood and thought Winona had chosen well. Willa was alert the entire time and after giving her a tour around the park in her stroller, Raylan settled on a park bench with Willa in his arms and a vanilla cone in his right hand. Tim couldn’t even process the idea of Raylan holding his daughter while eating ice cream. It was too much, like the cat that got the cream and then some . . . 

Tim ended up shaking his head and looking away. Being around Raylan while the other man was so happy and mellow gave him a funny feeling that he couldn’t quite place. It was a good feeling – he wanted the other man to be happy, he thought Raylan _deserved_ to be happy – but it also made him nervous and a little nauseous. _You could be happy too_ , a voice whispered. _With him._ Tim pushed that voice away.

When he looked back at Raylan, Willa was reaching out, trying to touch the ice cream cone. Raylan kept the cone away from her, swooping it in every now and then to Willa’s amusement. 

“Raylan,” Tim said, catching the other man’s attention. “You can’t give your baby girl ice cream.” 

“I wasn’t goin’ to,” Raylan half-heartedly protested. “’Sides, isn’t ice cream mostly milk?” 

“And sugar and other stuff that ain’t healthy for a newborn,” Tim filled in. 

Raylan chuckled and licked a big stripe of the vanilla cone. Tim wanted to roll his eyes. He knew that Raylan wasn’t being intentionally suggestive but Tim’s mind was often in the gutter when he thought about Raylan’s mouth or Raylan’s tongue and all the naughty things they could do. He might’ve called Raylan’s love for ice cream ‘ridiculous’ when he was with Winona, but he could’ve easily swapped that word with ‘pornographic.’ Somehow, he didn’t Winona would disagree with him either. 

“If you’re so concerned about my baby girl’s health,” Raylan was saying. 

Before Raylan could finish that sentence, Tim had leaned over and plucked the ice cream cone from his hand. Raylan looked like he was about to protest, but instead he adjusted Willa in his arms. He gave Tim a crafty smile, as though he knew that confiscating the ice cream cone had been Tim’s diversionary tactic. It was either gonna be the cone or Willa, and Tim wasn’t quite up to holding Willa just yet. 

“You don’t even like ice cream,” Raylan chided. 

Tim settled more comfortably on the park bench. “I like ice cream just fine,” he replied. “Unlike you, I’m not in love with the stuff.” 

Raylan hummed, catching Willa’s tiny hand in his as she bubbled with laughter and vainly tried to reach the ice cream that Tim was now holding. “Well,” he said fondly. “Ice cream’s not the only thing I love.” 

Tim assumed that Raylan was referring to Willa, but when he glanced at him, he was surprised to find Raylan’s intense gaze fixed solely on him. He almost choked. He glared at Raylan in return, and the cowboy’s piercing look mellowed to one of amusement. 

“Serves him right for stealing our ice cream,” he whispered to his daughter. Willa seemed to nod in agreement.

* * * * *

After a little over an hour in the park, Raylan was putting a drowsy Willa back into her baby seat.

“We heading back already?” Tim asked a little skeptically as he got into the passenger side of the car. 

“Nope,” Raylan answered. “Got an appointment.” 

“Care to share with the class?” 

Raylan’s smile was worryingly enigmatic. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “Try not to freak out,” he added, as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

Ten minutes later, Tim understood perfectly why Raylan had issued the ‘Try not to freak out’ warning when they pulled up in front of a single story bungalow with a large real estate sign hanging in the front yard. 

“Are we going fucking house-hunting?” Tim said in shock. 

“It’s just the one,” Raylan said by way of explanation, not a shred of apology in his tone. He’d already unbuckled his seat belt. “Couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The location’s perfect, it’s a good size and it fits the budget. Plus, the real estate agent’s a friend of Dan’s. The property’s somewhat in demand, but she’s been holding onto it so I can have a look.”

Tim sat a little dumbstruck while Raylan lifted Willa from her baby seat and set her down in the stroller. By the time Tim got out of the car, he must’ve still looked a little dazed because Raylan stopped in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You don’t have to come inside,” he said, his voice gentle as though Tim were some sort of frightened animal. “I’ll be quick. Just need to meet with the realtor, have a look around. Why don’t you stay out here and keep Willa company?” 

Tim could only nod. Raylan’s words weren’t entirely registering with him. The hand on his shoulder fell away and Raylan tipped the brim of the Stetson as he passed by Tim to meet the realtor, who Tim assumed was somewhere in the house. 

Tim had almost got his head around the situation when the sound of crying snapped him out of his reverie. He looked down at the stroller and the crying baby and shook his head. 

“Oh no. Please, don’t do that,” he begged Willa. 

His first instinct was to run inside and get Raylan, except that Tim had never run away from anything in his life (his alcoholic, abusive father didn’t count). Willa’s pretty face was scrunched up in displeasure and with a heavy sigh Tim leaned down and picked her up. She was as light and fragile as he expected, and he held her at arm’s length as he scrutinized her. Willa had stopped crying the moment he’d lifted her and now she was reaching out both arms towards him. 

“Aw, hell,” he muttered. He remembered how Raylan would hold her and he imitated the action, cradling her in his left arm. Willa immediately relaxed against him, quiet now and content. “I guess we better go find your Daddy,” Tim told her. 

Inside the single story house, Tim found Raylan talking to the realtor in the wide, open space that served as both a living and dining area. The kitchen was in the back to the left. Along the kitchen and the back wall were wide windows and sliding glass doors that opened onto a spacious back porch and garden. Beyond that Tim could already see the water. They weren’t far from the beach at all. 

It was the real estate agent who spotted them first and she walked over to Tim and Willa, her high heels clicking on the smooth, polished floor. Raylan followed sedately behind her. 

“Oh, this must be your baby girl,” she said, her voice adopting that cloying tone that people often used when they were about to coo at babies. 

“Her name’s Willa,” Raylan confirmed, but he kept his gaze steadfastly on Tim, his eyes asking a silent question. 

“She began to cry,” Tim immediately explained. “Figured she missed her Daddy.” 

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re moving to Florida to be with her,” the realtor was saying, still addressing Raylan. Without missing a beat, she said to Tim, “I’m Shelby Paltrow.” After that swift introduction, Shelby kept straight on talking. 

“You’ll find that this is a very welcoming neighborhood,” she said, continuing her sales pitch. “Very diverse in composition and very open-minded. A non-traditional family such as yourselves will feel right at home.” 

“A non-traditional –” Raylan began to repeat and then stopped abruptly. He glanced at Tim, who was trying not to laugh. In another situation Tim might’ve panicked, but being mistaken for a ‘non-traditional’ family because he was holding Willa and Raylan had ambushed him with house hunting had a certain amount of poetic justice. 

“This is Deputy Gutterson,” Raylan told Shelby, his voice becoming more professional. “He’s my partner.” 

“Of course, he is,” Shelby said, demurely. 

“My _work_ partner,” Raylan emphasized.

“Oh,” Shelby said, but her face crinkled in confusion as though she didn’t understand at all. “Oh,” she repeated, a moment later. “I see.” Tim could see a faint blush rising up her cheeks at her mistake, but she was saved from further embarrassment by the ringing of her phone. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing down at the touch screen. “I’ll have to take this. Why don’t you continue to look around?” she suggested. “I’ll join you in a moment.” Then Shelby was walking away from them, headed towards the front of the room for some privacy. 

When she was out of earshot, Raylan gestured toward Willa. “You okay there?” he asked. 

Willa had completely fallen asleep, resting snugly against Tim’s body and using his shoulder as a pillow. 

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Tim admitted. “No sense in disturbing her.” 

“I’d kiss you right now if I wasn’t worried it’d give you a coronary.” 

“Well, we are a ‘non-traditional’ family,” Tim reminded him. 

“That we are,” Raylan agreed, but Tim thought he was only partially joking. 

“She’s gonna drool all over my shoulder, isn’t she?” 

“That’s what babies do.” 

By the time Shelby Paltrow caught up to them, Tim and Raylan were wandering through the bedrooms, which were located on the left side of the house. It was a two-bedroom, two-bathroom house. The second bedroom would obviously go to Willa. As for the master bedroom, it was very spacious and as Tim stood in the center of it, he tried to imagine himself sharing this room with Raylan and with Willa down the hall. Tim had never considered himself to be a domestic person, not when the majority of his life had been spent alone. The only family he’d ever really known had been in the Rangers. To a certain extent, he thought of the Lexington office and the Marshal’s service as a kind of family now too. But the real question facing him was whether Raylan’s family was gonna be _his_ family. Winona had made it clear to him last night that she approved of their relationship, as shocked (and grateful) as he had been to have her support. Now, glancing at the sleeping baby in his arms, being part of Raylan’s family didn’t seem like such an impossibility.

He heard Raylan come up behind him and then the cowboy was standing next to him, placing a gentle hand on Willa’s back. “I knew you’d be good with her,” he said very quietly. 

Before Tim could reply, Raylan raised his voice and said, “Come on outside. This place has a nice view. And honestly, it’s that big back porch and garden that’s the main selling point for me.” 

Tim nodded and followed Raylan out of the room. Surprisingly, Shelby kept a respectable distance behind, her sales pitch apparently finished. She was allowing the house to speak for itself now.

Outside, in the balmy Florida afternoon, Tim could see why Raylan favored the porch and backyard. The porch was well shaded and cool, with a stone griller on the left and a wooden picnic table nearby. He allowed himself to imagine what evenings here with Raylan would be like, the sun in burnished tones of red and gold as it set, a few cold beers as they unwound at the end of the day. Tim mentally shook his head. It was a fucking postcard is what it was. Or a godamn Harlequin romance with Raylan and his damn Stetson instead of Fabio and his flowing mane on the cover. 

“Whaddya think?” Raylan asked, materializing on his right. 

“I like it,” Tim said before he could stop himself. 

“I do too,” Raylan agreed. 

“You gonna get it?” 

“A savvier shopper would look at other options before settling on the first one.” 

“Are you calling yourself a savvy shopper?” 

Raylan laughed. “Far from it,” he replied. “And I’m not a shopper of any kind.”

“Well, I like it,” Tim found himself repeating for no real reason. 

“Enough maybe to see yourself livin’ here?” Raylan pushed.

Inexplicably, at least to himself, Tim reached out with his free hand and grabbed hold of Raylan’s, pulling the other man towards him. “It ain’t an impossibility,” he said. 

Raylan was looking at him with that calculating gaze. Tim recognized it as the cowboy deciding how much he could get away with in public and with a potential audience. For once, Tim made the decision for him, tugging on Raylan’s hand twice until the other man caved and leaned over to kiss him. He felt Raylan’s other hand slip around his waist to balance him, and the kiss had to be angled just right so that they didn’t crush Willa between them, but Tim thought it was just about perfect. 

Willa gurgled when they broke apart, as though sensing that her Daddy was near. 

“Let me take her,” Raylan said, and Tim handed Willa over a little gratefully. 

A discreet cough had both of them turning to see Shelby approaching them from the shadows at the back of the porch. Based on the small smile on her face, Tim suspected that she’d been watching them for some time and for once, the thought of that didn’t disconcert him. 

“Have you come to a decision?” she asked them, a little hopefully. 

Raylan glanced at Tim, as though seeking his confirmation. 

Tim shrugged a little off-handedly, as if the answer were self-evident. 

“We’ll take it,” he said. 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
